


Adolescing

by a_big_apple



Series: Adolescing [1]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Puberty, Shota
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-07
Updated: 2010-02-07
Packaged: 2017-12-05 06:03:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/719715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_big_apple/pseuds/a_big_apple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Ciel grows inexplicably body-shy, Sebastian is baffled by humans until finally he isn't, and a lesson in biology ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adolescing

“I can do the buttons myself, Sebastian.”

The butler pauses, gloved fingers already holding the edges of his master’s nightshirt. He takes a moment to analyze the boy’s tone (less sharp than usual, a little strained, anxious, perhaps?) and then glances at his face (turned awkwardly away, eyes fixed on the carpeted floor to his right, a little flushed) before dropping the nightshirt and rising from his knees. Ciel quickly pulls the shirt closed across his body, his legs crossed tightly at the ankles as they dangle off the edge of the bed.

Perhaps this is…modesty? That’s something new. Sebastian has dressed, undressed and bathed his charge every day for the last two years, and the child has never shown such shyness about his body before.

“Bocchan? Are you feeling all right?”

Ciel’s face darkens into a scowl—much more familiar, though he keeps his eyes averted. “I’m fine. I can manage some buttons on my own.”

Sebastian makes no effort to squash the tilt of a smile at the corner of his mouth. All right—perhaps the master wants privacy, but doesn’t know how to ask for it. Very well.

“Shall I bring you some warm milk before you retire? I noticed your sleep has been restless as of late.”

Ciel meets his eyes then, looking up at him with something akin to panic before he schools the expression. “Yes. That’s good. Some warm milk,” he stutters.

“As you wish, bocchan.”

Sebastian slips out, pulling the door closed behind him, chuckling to himself at this strange new behavior. Now that he considers it, the little master has been fidgety in recent days; Sebastian chalked it up to young Elizabeth’s increasingly frequent and often aggravating visits to the mansion, but perhaps he must observe more carefully to find the root of the issue.

The butler mulls this over in his mind as he fetches the milk and dribbles a tiny bit of brandy in it. Humans are such complex creatures—particularly the young ones—and he finds it difficult at times to anticipate Ciel’s pendulous moods. When he returns to the master bedroom, the boy has tucked himself into bed and pulled the covers up to his chin, though in Sebastian’s judgment the room isn’t cold enough to warrant such cocooning, and he wonders briefly if the child is ill.

“Here you are, bocchan.” The boy sits up, fussing with the covers some more before taking the milk and sipping at it. The light flush on his face has spread to his neck as well, and Sebastian frowns a bit at that, reaching over to test the heat of it; Ciel recoils from his hand like a startled deer, sloshing the milk over his wrist and onto the bedspread.

“What are you doing?” he asks, voice a little high. “Look, you’ve made me spill!”

“My apologies, bocchan. Your face is flushed, and you’re quite bundled up, I was afraid you might be unwell.” The butler pulls out a handkerchief with a magician’s flourish and dabs the milk from the boy’s skin and the blankets in his lap. Ciel goes rigid, looking pointedly away again, and Sebastian’s eyebrow rises into a perplexed arch. He takes the opportunity to lay his hand against the child’s face; it’s warm, but not alarmingly so. Ciel’s eyes flutter closed for a moment at the touch, though—odd, that. “Are you certain you’re feeling all right?”

“I’m fine,” Ciel snaps, pulling suddenly away, then takes a gulp of the milk before handing it back to Sebastian only half empty. “I’m just tired.”

Sebastian takes the cup and bows. “Rest well then, bocchan.” He extinguishes his candelabra as he retreats from the room, the same as always, but something about this strange interaction they’ve just had is niggling at the corner of his mind. So, instead of getting straight to preparations for tomorrow, he pauses silently just outside the door.

For a minute or two there’s no sound from inside, and he wonders if the little slosh of brandy in the milk has put the boy to sleep right away; he’s just about to give up and attend his own duties when his sharp ears catch the shifting of limbs and creaking of bedsprings and then, after another moment’s pause, a soft hitch of breath. A little flicker of suspicion lights in Sebastian’s mind, and he stills even his breathing (he doesn’t need it, anyway) and presses an ear to the crack between the double doors.

From this vantage he can pick out the sliding, shifting sound of friction, sheets and skin all moving together in an odd, hesitant rhythm. It’s the rhythm of it that finally brings the realization, and the butler pulls back in surprise. Of course. The boy is so frail and small, and his past so riddled with trauma, that the butler thought they’d have another year or two before this inevitable blossoming—but no, it’s clear to him now what the fidgeting and modesty herald, and what Ciel didn’t want Sebastian to see beneath his thin nightshirt.

It’s almost sweet. 

Another hitching breath and a quiet little whimper rivet his attention once again; there’s something strangely appealing about this unknown aspect of his small master, and Sebastian eases the door open on silent hinges, just wide enough to satisfy this sudden, inexplicable curiosity.

Sebastian’s eyes are not like a human’s; though it’s pitch-dark in the room, he can see Ciel’s skinny frame as clearly as he might in daylight. The usual froth of pillows at the head of the bed has been decimated, repurposed to prop the child up on his stomach. He grips a soft stack of them beneath his chest, and though he’s still mostly covered by blankets, Sebastian can make out the awkward, spasmodic thrusting of the child’s hips into the yielding pillow pile. Bit by bit the blankets slide down the curve of his back with the motion, and the butler watches, transfixed.

Human sexuality is something of a mystery to demonkind; though Sebastian wears a fully functional human guise and has made use of it before (to great effect on the female population), he does not feel the same sort of hunger. Still, there is something shockingly… _delicious_ about this scene, the fitful thrusts lacking any grace of practice, the whitened knuckles of his hands, the raw, genuine cry Ciel muffles in the pillows. The butler finds himself unable to look away as the boy’s hips and breath grow frantic, as he ducks his head and exposes the pale nape of his neck and the knob of his spine. The tiny exclamations Ciel lets escape are so unlike any normal range of sound his master makes, so open and without subterfuge, that Sebastian finds himself pushing the door a little farther, leaning in, drawn almost physically toward the child. Then all at once a shudder runs through those frail limbs and Ciel’s eyes fly open; he loves the pillows hard and hisses out a name.

“ _Sebastian!_ ”

It is not an order, nor even a proper call for his presence; still, he feels a familiar tug in his gut that he is hard-pressed to resist. Most perplexing, though, is the odd tight flutter he feels in his chest. The child called his name. Called his name at the height of his preadolescent pleasure, humping pillows in his bed. How…unusual.

Sebastian tries to make this revelation fit into some category, some pattern of human behavior he can understand, and as he does the boy in the bed shivers, slumps, flops onto his back and throws off the covers, panting. His nightshirt is ruched up high along his splayed thighs, and with the blankets tossed back Sebastian can suddenly smell him, the familiar soap from his bath and the linens, clean little boy sweat and this new, sharp scent of his sex. 

The butler pulls back, lets the door swing silently closed again. He adjusts his gloves, straightens his vest, smoothes his coat and trousers with his palms. There’s no reason for anything to be out of place, and yet he feels as though something has suddenly shifted, and the habit is familiar and puts his mind to rights again. With a last confused look at the closed bedroom door, he takes up the unlit candelabra again and moves swiftly on to the rest of the evening’s duties.

***

Ciel seems much more himself in the morning; he is drowsy, cranky, insolent. Sebastian is relieved to be back on solid ground. The day passes without incident, or at least, without any more incident than usual, and Maylene doesn’t break a single dish, and the butler has almost managed to put the previous night’s show out of his mind.

Of course, that only lasts until bathtime. 

Ciel lets Sebastian undress him with unusual compliance, lifting his arms or his feet without being told, and steps quickly into the steaming water. “You may go, Sebastian,” he says in a dismissive tone. “I’ll call you when I’m finished.”

This, too, is new. The boy is perfectly capable of washing himself, but he has never sent his butler from the room before. Sebastian smiles smoothly, takes a chance, pushes a button.

“Ah, but then who will wash your back, bocchan?”

Ciel scowls, regarding him for a tense moment, then slumps forward in the water, giving in. “Very well. Stay.”

“As you wish, bocchan.” Sebastian kneels by the side of the claw-footed tub, as always, setting his jacket and gloves aside and rolling up his sleeves. Ciel stiffens at the first touch of hands and lathered cloth on his back, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. The butler watches him, making soothing soapy circles over shoulderblades that stick out like birds’ wings. The boy is always so damnably thin, no matter what Sebastian feeds him. 

When he’s satisfied, the butler hands the cloth and soap to his charge and steps back a polite pace or two, folding his hands behind his back. Ciel turns away from him to wash; perhaps it’s just the heat of the water, but Sebastian notes the flush of red at the tips of his ears as he cleans between his legs, and smiles crookedly.

“There’s no need to be shy, bocchan.”

Ciel twitches, startled by his voice, and pulls his hand from his groin so fast that he sends a spray of water in Sebastian’s direction. The butler steps to one side to avoid it. 

“What are you talking about?”

“Your body hasn’t changed since yesterday. I’ve seen it before.”

Ciel’s whole face goes red, and he stands abruptly. “I’m not being shy! Just…just get the towel, I’m finished.”

Sebastian wraps him up in cotton and rubs his hair, thinking of the night before, of his name on the boy’s lips. If Ciel had such desires…well, he could command it. It would be easy. The demon knows, objectively, that intimacy between a child and a grown man is frowned upon by human morals; still, his master is not especially God-fearing, nor is his moral code particularly strict. If he can command it, then why doesn’t he? Why this secrecy? 

Lost in thought, he pats his charge dry, along the pale arms and back and narrow chest, across his belly and his hips. Ciel squirms, but Ciel always squirms, and Sebastian is adept at ignoring him, but then he lowers the towel to dry one skinny flank and there it is, that mystery of the human male, half-hard and bobbing and dusky pink. Sebastian blinks, suppresses a smile, and continues as though nothing is out of the ordinary. Ciel grips the edge of the towel, though, trying tug it back up. “Sebastian…”

“It’s perfectly all right, bocchan,” Sebastian soothes in his smoothest tones, drying behind the child’s delicate knee and down his tense calf. “You have no father to tell you, so please allow me. This is a natural function of the human body. You needn’t be embarrassed.” 

Ciel makes a choked sound as the towel moves to his other leg, gently up the length of it. “What do you know about natural functions of the human body? You aren’t human.”

“The body is predictable, it follows rules. It’s easy to learn when you’ve been among humans as long as I have.” Sebastian looks up; Ciel has regained some of his proud bearing, but there’s uncertainty in his eyes. “It’s emotions that demons such as myself find difficult to understand.”

“Because you don’t feel them.”

“Oh, no, bocchan, I feel them. Just not the same way you do. Come, let’s get you tucked into bed before you catch a chill.”

Ciel allows Sebastian to dress him for bed tonight, and the demon is possessed by the urge to push the envelope, and resolve this confusion. He does not put his gloves back on; as he pulls the nightshirt around Ciel, he lets a black-nailed thumb trail across the child’s trembling chest, brushing a nipple and finding it already peaked. The touch is rewarded with a sharp intake of breath, and as Sebastian buttons slowly downward, the boy’s breath only quickens. Ciel’s erection is small, proportional to his frame and his youth, but it’s enough to keep the shirt from falling flat as Sebastian fastens the last pearl button and lets it drop.

“Bocchan,” he says quietly, because he’s a _demon_ and a butler, and no demon can ever really resist the impulse to tempt, “do you require anything else of me?”

“Such as?” Ciel chokes out. 

So. The little master understands the question.

“If I may be so bold…as I said earlier, you have no father or brothers to instruct you in the ways of growing boys. Would you like…assistance?”

The boy’s knees tremble a little, and he sits down on the edge of the bed, feet dangling. “Assistance?”

“Though demons do not generally engage in…self-pleasuring, I have learned many techniques in my time on the Earth.”

Ciel finally meets Sebastian’s eyes, and all at once the flutter returns to the butler’s chest. 

What _is_ that? 

He’s easily distracted, though, by the longing and fear warring for dominance in the boy’s expression. Sebastian lays a hand lightly against Ciel’s knee. 

“I’ll never harm you, bocchan.”

The fear eases a little; the longing, and something else Sebastian can’t identify, suffuse the child’s gaze. “Until you eat my soul, you mean.”

Sebastian smiles slowly and nods agreement. “Until that moment, bocchan.”

“Then, since I have no father,” the boy murmurs, a little sorrowful and suddenly calm, “I’ll suffer you to instruct me, Sebastian.”

The mark of their contract flares on the back of his hand. “Yes, my Lord.”

***

Ciel doesn’t require any further coaxing, though after his brief moment of calm, he is skittish and flushed again. Sebastian settles against the headboard and gently guides the child to sit between his legs, resting Ciel’s thin back against his chest. He dips his head to murmur in the boy’s ear. “Place your hands over mine, bocchan, to follow along.”

He obeys, then flinches when his palm touches the seal on the back of Sebastian’s hand. Sebastian almost flinches, too—their contact, through that touch, is quite suddenly more than physical.

“Is that…I’ve never…”

“It’s all right, bocchan. This is…” Sebastian searches for the right words. “This is what it feels like when you call me. When you command me. I feel your will.”

“Then what am I feeling? _Your_ will?”

“My bond to you. My obedience.”

A shiver quakes through the boy’s frame, and Sebastian wants suddenly to soothe it, and doesn’t quite know why; he presses his palm against Ciel’s chest, feeling the heartbeat flutter beneath, and Ciel’s hand follows his, never breaking contact. Slowly, the demon slides his other hand down along the child’s hip and over the inside of his thigh, pressing lightly at his knee; the boy’s legs fall open, and the eagerness in the motion is absurdly charming.

Sebastian traces Ciel’s collarbone with his fingertips, undoes a few of the buttons he just recently fastened to gain access to skin, traces circles around a nipple with his fingertips and the barest edges of immaculate nails. The boy’s chest rises into his touch, fingers tensing against Sebastian’s knuckles. Slowly, soothingly, the butler slides his other palm back up the inside of a thigh, beneath the nightshirt and across a soft belly, then down again, hooking his thumb over the base of the boy’s penis and curling his fingers to cup the small scrotum below. 

A tiny sound escapes Ciel’s throat, high and startled, followed by another when the demon strokes the pad of his thumb along the boy’s flushed shaft.

Lightly pinching a nipple earns a lower, throatier sound; teasing the head and thumbing the slit of the boy’s cock gains a full-body wriggle and a confused, pleasured, questioning cry. The demon’s seal throbs under Ciel’s palm, and without being told, Sebastian knows what his charge wants, where to touch.

He curls his fingers loosely around his little master’s cock, and Ciel bucks involuntarily into his hand; his slender fingers squeeze against Sebastian’s, and the demon tightens his hold a fraction, giving him a languid stroke. 

“Sebastian…” the boy breathes, his gaze fixed on the hand around his cock. 

“Yes, my Lord,” Sebastian purrs into his ear, and Ciel bucks harder into his grip.

“Se…ba…ah… _ahh_ …”

The demon quickens his strokes, presses a palm flat against the child’s pounding heartbeat.

“I…ah… _please_ ,” Ciel whines, soft and high, not knowing what to ask for, and Sebastian gives him a careful squeeze. The boy thrusts urgently into his strokes, and all at once Sebastian notices the way Ciel’s skinny backside rubs between his legs against an unexpected hardness.

“Yes…my Lord,” he says, and is startled to hear the words come out on a breathless moan. It doesn’t sound like his voice at all, and he swallows hard as his charge pulses in his hand.

“Sebastian!” the boy sobs, and writhes, and shudders, and throws his head back hard against the demon’s shoulder. Sebastian holds the quaking body close, stroking Ciel until he stills a little and starts to soften; some corner of the butler’s mind delights in the lack of mess and the rest of him is sharply attuned to the quivering limbs that twitch against his own in the aftershocks of pleasure.

Ciel, growing swiftly groggier with satisfaction, looks at the butler with heavy-lidded eyes as Sebastian eases out from behind him and tucks him limp-limbed into his nest of pillows. 

“Rest now,” the butler murmurs, pushing a hank of stray hair out of the boy’s eyes. Ciel regards him sleepily, and for once, there is no sorrow in his face, or hardness; he looks like the child he is, softer than Sebastian has ever seen him.

“Stay with me…stay with me until…”

Until death. 

“Yes, bocchan,” he murmurs, sitting by the side of the bed and allowing Ciel to keep hold of his hand. “Until you fall asleep.” 

Sebastian remains there, watching, long after the boy’s breath has evened out and his grip on the demon’s fingers gone slack. The unexpected arousal throbs in the butler’s trousers, but he doesn’t leave to deal with it yet; something in his chest throbs along with it, keeping time, matching the steady rise and fall of the child’s chest as he sleeps. 

With Ciel’s skin still pressed to the mark of their contract, Sebastian can almost see his dreams, feel the edges of them brushing past him like ghosts in a graveyard. They tug at him; he leans closer, his voice just the barest whisper in the stillness of the room.

“ _Yes, my Lord_.”


End file.
